


I'll Be Home Tonight

by Theboys



Series: Dear God, It's Me, Dean [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angry Dean Winchester, Angry Sam, M/M, Omega Dean, POV Sam Winchester, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sam Winchester, Protective Sam, Scent Marking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 15:10:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4440644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Winchesters got all of hell talking. Dean’s contract is due and little brother Sammy just can’t take that lying down, can he?”</p><p>In which Sam comes in contact with an unwelcome guest.</p><p>Sam POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Home Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Title stolen from Here We Are by Breaking Benjamin.
> 
> The 'verse becomes AU from this point on, but there will still be canon-compliant factors, as you'll read here.

Alpha has become acclimated to the stench of blood showers.

Sam’s killed sixteen crossroads thus far, and he’s not showing any signs of slowing down. He doesn’t summon his seventeenth.

Bobby thinks Sam is damn idjit, born and raised. Sam thinks Bobby is probably right, but the difference is, he doesn’t give a damn. Sam’s no fool. They’d stopped responding to his summons after he had dismembered the fourth one in a row.

Sam admires their resiliency, finds it commendable that they’d held out for so long, thought he was going to stop. That his desire to avoid bloodshed would detract from this moment. When Sam sleeps, at night, when he pulls his brother close to his chest, sleeping deadweight in his arms, he feels remorse.

This is what he has allowed himself to become.

Was Alpha ever the only monster?

Scrubs his hands until they’re raw, claret and broken, hanging limply in scalding water, nerves protesting wildly. Alpha whines, nudging Sam to remove them, pull himself together.

How the hell is Sam supposed to do that?

Sam’s been ignoring the one thing that makes sense, the reason why he died to begin with. The reason that Dean’s going to burn for all eternity. Sam’s hopped up on demon blood, weaponized flesh, cocked and loaded, ready to burn in fire.

Jake Talley, ending his life, entire existence narrowed down to one single point. Alpha screeching inside of him, all of the yelling that he himself could not do, blood like the Nile draining from his body. That’s the true absence of sound. The nothingness.

He and Alpha died at the exact same time that day, cradled in Dean’s arms, desecrating his brother in a liquid blanket. Absolute horror-scent rolling off of Dean in waves, curdled by desperation.

_Sam. Hey! Hey. Hey. Come here. Let me look at you._

Dean’s voice, last on the periphery of consciousness, because he’s dying. This is what it feels like. His brother’s voice fading in and out, poor radio station, can’t feel his legs, his fingers, his face.

Pain so acute it’s beyond, and he can’t feel that, either.

_We’re gonna patch you up, okay? You’ll be as good as new. Huh? I’m gonna take care of you._

Sam doesn’t know if Dean said anything else, words that were more for him than Sam at that point, because they both know he was beyond saving, far past anything that could reattach spinal cord, replace fluid, jigsaw him back to a place of breathing.

This is when Sam Winchester dies.

He’s lucky, he thinks wryly, as he rinses his hands off in the metal bucket of water he gathered from the hose in Bobby’s backyard, water frigid, curling Sam’s toes in his boots.

Most people don’t get to remember how they’ve passed, much less return to life and reminisce on it. One thing Sam’s aware of, is that Dean doesn’t make this sacrifice in vain.

Sam’s roped Bobby into his game, made him the middleman between Sam and other hunters, hunters who summon demons for him, walk away so Sam can take his time. They’re usually fairly easy, there’s not a lot of loyalty under duress.

But they don’t provide him with names.

And all he wants is a fucking name.

He’s hacked this pretty blond thing to pieces, she’d bit a chunk out of his wrist, eyes glassy onyx, tongue slithering. Sam may have went overboard, on that one. Do they not understand he isn’t joking? That he’ll hack his way through hell, demon by demon, covered in ichor until he’s half possessed himself?

She says her name’s Ruby.

She's about 5’5, long blonde hair, just his type, honestly, were she not reeking of hell-filth, sewage and garbage, makes Alpha posture immediately. It’s taken Sam some time to reign in his instinctive snarl and baring of teeth when he runs across one. Sam learned early on that omegas don’t need to do that.

Don’t have natural aggressive responses to threats. Dean’s a lethal killing machine in his own right. That makes Sam preen, grin with primal joy that his brother can hold his own, remains generally unafraid of anything most Omegas would fear. Makes Dean his, irrevocably.

“Sammy Winchester. Would-be _bitch_ for Azazel.” Her eyes flick to black, and then blue again, no mistake as to what she is.

Sam’s at her throat in seconds, no preamble, no monologue. Blade is slicing across, shallow cut, and he’s growling. That was supposed to be a killing laceration, wants to see a river of her internal organs. She dances out of reach, sprightly, and that’s a new trick. He supposes it’s because she wasn’t summoned, she appeared.

“What the hell do you want?”

She’s all smiles, set full of personal daggers in her mouth, leather jacket stretching slightly as she crosses her fingers and purses full lips.

“S’not about what I want, Sam. It’s what you’re after.” Smirk slips across her features, and she stalks toward him, face upturned, blinding. “Think news of your little mission wouldn’t travel downstairs?” She reaches up, plucks imaginary dirt off of Sam’s shirt and he flinches, full-bodied growl.

Her host’s omega, and smells like roasted nuts, underlying fear-scent. “Got everyone talking. Wondering why little Sammy’s trying to kill everything he can touch.” She walks ahead of him, purposefully scuffing black boots in the dirt.

Gives the Devil’s Trap, where the remains of Sam’s latest conquest is strewn, a wide berth. “Winchesters got all of hell talking. Dean’s contract is due and little brother Sammy just can’t take that lying down, can he?”

She pauses, aware that Sam is close behind her, and flashes him a predatory wink. “You got one minute to tell me something I wanna hear.” Sam whips his hand out, lightning quick, tangles his wrist and forearm in long blonde hair, snaps her neck back so she’s gazing up at him upside down. Wide blue eyes, thumping pulse.

“Clearly, I don’t have a problem killing your kind.” She laughs, throaty sound at this angle, and whirls her way gracefully out of Sam’s grip to face him. “Handsy. Take me on a date, first.” She sniffs, puts a few inches of space between them. “I’ll do you one better, Sam. I’ll give you two.”

Sam narrows his eyes skeptically, tip of his blade cutting into the fleshy part of his palm. He can scent the rivulets of blood, and Alpha bears his teeth, rage scent flowing, metal and oil. “I’m listening.”

She clasps her hands together, mock excitement. “First things first. I don’t give a damn how many demons you kill, s’long as you leave me alone.” Sam snorts, begins to walk away, quietly navigating the best direction back into town from the forest surrounding the area. Takes note of the tree stump he and Dean found as kids, the one that looks like an owl.

_It’s Hedwig, Dean_

Ruby runs to catch up, mildly out of breath. “In fact, I’ve got an even better way for you to do it.” She pauses in her trot, leans down toward her boots to unsheath a blade. Sam rocks forward, eschewing his better instincts, curious against his will. It’s a silver knife, and the cut of the blade is jagged, sawed out and serrated, Joker-esque.

There are intricate carvings on the metal itself, and the entire thing is settled on a handle of rough looking wood. Sam doesn’t get an adequate glance, as Ruby snatches it away from his eyes as soon as she’s freed it from her shoe, but he can see enough to know that the writing is ancient.

She’s piqued his interest.

“What’s so special about this knife? I got a ton of them. Been doing the job just fine.” She twirls the knife in her fingers, lithe thing, honed from years of practice. She tucks blonde hair behind one ear. “Sam. Didn’t you study your history? This little thing kills demons. Murders. No pit stop in hell, no stint on the rack.”

Sam’s smile is tense, lips pressed tight. “You can say that, but how do I know it works?” She spins the blade on her fingers so quickly it cuts her wrist and the salty scent hits his nose. “Next time you’re about to gank a demon, gimme a call. I’d _love_ to give ya a test run.”

-

Sam doesn’t bother hiding his freshly washed scent when he returns, knows Dean is aware of what he’s been doing anyway.

He finds his brother huddled over the hood of the Impala, long sleeved baggy shirt on, despite the heat. Sam strides over hesitantly, makes sure Dean has more than enough time to yell at him before he gets close.

His brother doesn’t say anything as he tinkers with the engine, unscrewing the lid to the oil and holding the thin strip of metal close to his face, gauging the color of the fluid. Sam sniffs surreptitiously, can smell his pups, and a frisson of joy passes through him. They’re asleep, pretty nature-scents synonymous, for now.

“Stop scentin’ ‘em.” Dean’s voice is low, quiet threat.

Sam backs up a step, shoulders slumping in. “Dean, I just, I haven’t been able to touch them, or you--” Dean slams the hood down with a shudder, rocking the frame of the car, and Sam takes two giant steps back, because Dean is monstrously angry.

“S’not my fault, Sam. Maybe I don’t wanna have to explain to them that their Dad went and got himself killed.” Sam flinches, burnt. “Dean, what other choices do I have, here? If you can think of a way out, by all means man, tell me.”

Dean looks frustrated, one hand curved innocently over his swollen stomach, and Alpha makes an uncomfortable noise, wants to run his hands over his mate and smother him into his scent, sweep away that smell of confusion and horror.

“I can’t have kids and only give ‘em one parent, Sam. That ain’t gonna work. And God knows you’d be the only decent parent they’d have.” He waves his hands in the air, steps away from his car at a rapid pace. “They’d live off of string cheese and bacon, man. And you know all these facts and shit, who the hell would teach ‘em anything?”

Dean’s foot catches on a wrench lying on the earth near him and his ankle twists, sending him falling ass-first into the dust of the salvage yard. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters. Sam scoops him up, forehead covered with worry lines. “I’m out of options here, Dean. This is all we got.”

Dean deflates, angles his face away from his brother, body taut. Sam holds on tighter regardless, scents Dean thoroughly, despite his resistance.

Ruby’s got a deck of cards, all probably stacked against him.

But what she did give him, was his ace. 

**Author's Note:**

> What are your thoughts? Things are about to get squirrelly from this point forward.


End file.
